


Malware Detected

by Giraffe_Interchange_Format



Series: Sincerely, Entropy [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 02:44:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5230868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giraffe_Interchange_Format/pseuds/Giraffe_Interchange_Format
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Root and Shaw must go undercover to protect a number, whose life is endangered because she's too good at her job as a CIA analyst.</p><p>Although, is it really undercover if everyone is in costume?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Malware Detected

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not good at smut, and I'm sorry. I tried.

“When you said ‘exciting new assignment,’ I expected to be stealing jets or shooting kneecaps,” Shaw intoned, “not attend some nerd convention.”

She was leaning against one wall of the elevator and giving Root an unamused look.

“It’s a comic convention, sweetie. And you look adorable in your Ripley costume,” Root comments with a saccharine smile. “You even get to carry a flamethrower!”

“Which isn’t real,” Shaw scowls.

“But that flight suit makes hiding your weapons so much easier.”

“At least it’s not as ridiculous as your costume, I guess,” Shaw sighs. “What are you supposed to be, anyway?”

Root looks down at herself. “Robot Maria,” she states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “From Metropolis?”

Shaw just looks at her blankly. Root smiles at her affectionately.

“That is just precious, Sameen.”

Shaw frowns, but before she could retort, the elevator doors open to reveal the hotel lobby.

It was filled with convention attendees, most were dressed in costumes of varying degrees of intricacy.

As they made their way to the convention center across the street from their hotel, Root and Shaw received compliments from several enthusiastic strangers. Root basks in the attention, while Shaw looks like she wants to snarl at them for having the gall to speak to her.

“Our costumes took a lot of work, Sameen. You should enjoy it.”

“You didn’t even make it yourself.”

“There was no time, but they took someone a lot of work,” Root smirks. “And I paid handsomely for both.”

“With Harold’s money,” Shaw adds, unimpressed.

“He won’t miss it.”

They were interrupted by two girls, dressed as some demon hunter and his celestial boyfriend that Shaw vaguely recalls from subway posters. The girls want to take a picture with them, to which Root heartily agrees. Shaw begrudgingly goes along with it.

The girls took several pictures before deeming one good enough to share on social media, and Shaw grows increasingly disgruntled at having to pose.

They thanked Root and Shaw before walking away.

“Is it a good idea to have our pictures plastered all over the internet?” Shaw wondered.

“Don’t worry, Sameen. We hardly look like ourselves.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Thanks to this awful wig you made me wear.”

“Well, you refused to get a perm.”

Shaw groaned at the thought.

“In any case, She has us covered. But it’s cute that you thought of that,” Root smirks down at Shaw, their height difference more drastic than ever.

Shaw scowls up at the woman towering over her. “I still don’t understand why you get to wear heels with your costume.”

“Ripley is a soldier on a spaceship, Sam. It would make no sense for her to wear anything other than those sensible sneakers.”

“And you’re a robot!”

Root simply winks over her shoulder as she walks away from Shaw.

 

How are we supposed to find the number in this crowd?” Shaw scans the masses of people dressed up in costume roaming the place.

Root’s eyes go unfocused for a second, before turning to Shaw. She pulls out her phone and shows Shaw the screen.

“Our number, Christina Liang, seems to have a preference for dressing up as Batgirl Cassandra Cain.”

On the screen is a picture of the number dressed up as the comic book character.

“So we’re looking for someone dressed like that?”

“We don’t have to. She’s currently,” Root pauses as The Machine speaks to her, “100 feet to our right, eating a McMuffin sandwich.”

The two women look to where The Machine instructed, and, sure enough, there is the number. She’s leaning against a wall, eating her sandwich alone.

“She looks busy,” Shaw quips. “So what now? We just follow her around? And why did The Machine give you her number anyway?” She asks, looking the number over, “She doesn’t seem like a national threat.”

“She’s not. She’s a CIA analyst, who recently found something very interesting regarding the Pentagon’s cyber security.”

“So, I’m gonna assume she’s now in mortal danger.”

Root smiles and nods. “It seems Christina’s boss is not playing for the home team, after all, and he’s looking to keep her quiet.”

“How are we supposed to follow her around? We’re not exactly inconspicuous right now.”

“Oh, Sam. Have a little faith,” Root coos before strutting directly toward Christina Liang.

To Shaw’s confusion, however, Root doesn’t make contact with the number. Instead, she just walks right past her.

Before Shaw could catch up and ask her what she’s doing, the number loudly exclaims, “Whoa! Robot Maria!”

Root turns at this, as if she hadn’t noticed Liang standing there.

“Yeah, Root says in an overly cheerful voice. “You’re a fan?”

“Are you kidding? Other than the fact that it’s a seminal sci-fi film and exploration of class conflict,” Liang rambles excitedly, “False Maria deserves books written just about her. I think it’s ironic that she was created by an obsessive scorned man.”

She finally stops talking to take a breath, and Root gives Shaw a triumphant look.

“Hi,” Root holds her hand out with a charming smile. “My name is Jane.”

“Christina,” Liang says, taking her hand.

“This here is Marietta, Root gestures to Shaw.

“Awesome Ripley, by the way. Your flamethrower is legit,” Liang grins.

Shaw returns a forced smile at her.

“So, Christina,” Root begins innocently. “Did you come here with a group?”

“No,” Liang looks a bit deflated. “My friend was supposed to be here with me as Batman, but he had some last minute IRS thing to deal with.”

Shaw subtly raises an eyebrow at Root, who simply ignores her in favor of looking sympathetic.

“That’s a shame,” she pauses as if thinking. “Hey, why don’t you hang out with us? It’s always more fun to have other people to fangirl with, right?”

Root flashes her winningest smile, and Shaw knew Liang was a goner.

“Sure, that sounds fun,” Liang exclaims. “Actually, there’s a panel on ‘Women of Fandoms’ I wanna check out, if you’re interested.”

“Lead the way,” Root gestures for her to go ahead.

As they trail a few feet behind, Root and Shaw give each other sly smiles. The Machine always had a plan.

 

Root and Shaw spend the entire day walking around the huge convention center with Liang. Intermittently, Liang would become very excited about something, and Root would somehow know exactly what to say. By the end of the day, Shaw could swear that their number was completely smitten with Root.

_She totally played her. Some people are such suckers._

Just then, some grimy-looking teen boys ran by, screaming something about “stompin’ ass.” One of them nearly knocks into Root, and she quickly dodges out of his way. Unfortunately, her costume was not made for quick movements, and Root stumbles.

Shaw quickly catches her, and Root takes advantage of their close proximity to whisper her thanks seductively into Shaw’s ears.

“This is totally like something out of a weird fanfic,” Liang comments, watching the two-woman tableau in front of her.

Shaw quickly lets go, but Root’s smirk doesn’t leave her face.

 

“Can’t believe our rooms are right across the hall from each other,” Root chirps. “Small world.”

Shaw scoffs, and Root nudges her.

“If you guys want, we can walk over together tomorrow,” Liang offers.

“That sounds great. Right, Marie?”

Shaw purses her lips at the nickname.

“Sure, but I’ll need breakfast.”

“Oh, we can check out the hotel restaurant. No more McMuffins for me,” Liang breathes out and rubs her belly.

“Great. See you in the morning. I’ll text you. How does 9:00 sound?”

“Perfect. See you guys.” With that, they retreat to their respective rooms.  


“First of all, Marietta? Marie?” Shaw balks the moment the door closes behind them, kicking off her shoes.

Root shrugs, “I just thought our names should have a theme.”

Shaw looks at her curiously before adding, “Secondly, do we have eyes on the number?”

“Her phone was blue-jacked the moment she complimented my costume, and I added visuals this morning after she left her room.”

Shaw nods in understanding, “So that’s where you disappeared to this morning.”

“Aw. Did you miss me, sweetie?”

Shaw huffs, refusing to dignify that with an answer. Root winks at her before moving to remove her costume and make-up.

“Miss Shaw. Miss Groves. Did you enjoy the convention today?”

“Hello, Harry. I had a blast,” Root says as Shaw rolls her eyes.

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t send John to go with her.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Shaw, but Mr. Reese is busy on another assignment as a favor to Miss Morgan.”

“You’re getting the visual feed on our number, Harry?”

“Yes, and I do appreciate the additional eyes on her door and balcony. Anything suspicious when you were spending time with her today?”

“Define suspicious,” Shaw snarks, recalling the bizarre costumes and odd bits of conversations she overheard.

“As in life-threatening, Miss Shaw.”

“No, we didn’t,” Root replies. “And She didn’t either.”

“Regardless, you should still be on high alert. It’s a high-risk environment, with everything that’s going on.”

“I’m always on high alert,” Shaw mumbles.

“Yes, of course. You should both get some rest. There’s a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

The audio link goes silent after he bids them goodnight. Shaw removes her earpiece and looks up to see Root sprawled out on the bed. Shaw’s bed.

“What are you doing?” she asks, feigning annoyance.

“I’m not sleepy, yet,” her voice far too innocent.

“Don’t you have a voice in your head to keep you company at all times? Why don’t you just have some pillow talk with your Machine?”

“She’s not my Machine, and I’d rather have some pillow talk with you.”

There’s a glint in Root’s eyes, and it makes something spark in Shaw’s gut.

Rot slowly peels herself off the bed, eyes holding Shaw’s gaze.

“I’m not interested in pillow talk,” Shaw challenges.

“That’s okay,” Root places one hand on the zipper of Shaw’s flight suit. “There are other fun things we can do on a pillow.”

Shaw watches as Root slowly pulls the zipper downward. She glances up the same time Root does. Shaw realizes that, somehow, they’ve shifted closer, faces inches away from each other.

She’s good at that. Being surprisingly close.

Root can feel Shaw’s exhale on her lips, and she moves forward even more.

“We can have fun, but you’re gonna owe me dinner,” Shaw mumbles, eyes tracking Root as she gradually moves lower down Shaw’s body.

Root simply hums. Her hands pushing the flight suit off of Shaw’s shoulders, and it drops to her ankles.

Shaw stands still, watching Root’s hungry eyes leer over her muscles in the tank top and shorts that are now revealed by the lack of a flight suit. Root carefully removes the pistols strapped to Shaw’s abdomen.

“I want a burger,” she sighs when Root pushes up the hem of the tank top to brush lips over her abs.

“Whatever you want,” Root mumbles before nipping at Shaw’s hip. _Anything for this pelvis sculpted out of fucking marble. Hitting a lot of people apparently does a body good._

“A chili cheese burger,” Shaw adds in a growl.

Root nods, mouth totally occupied. Her tongue flicks out to taste, and the heat of Shaw’s flushed body makes her want more.

Shaw is fed up with the teasing, so she pulls Root up by her arm. The woman was clad in nothing but panties and a faded t-shirt with HAL 9000 on the front.

The shirt is a bit too small, and Root’s chest pushes against, erect nipples stretching the fabric. Shaw couldn’t help but lick her lips. She pulls Root in for a hard kiss, tongues working against each other for dominance.

Root knows she’s just fighting the inevitable. Shaw always wins, unless she wants to lose.

Shaw steps completely out of the flight suit to lift Root up by her thighs. Her long legs immediately wrap around Shaw, hands holding tight to the rippling muscles of Shaw’s tanned shoulders.

Root’s own hips automatically grind against her partner, who walks them toward the bed until her knees hit the mattress.

She drops Root bodily onto the bed and pushes her legs apart. She slides her thighs underneath Root’s pulling her roughly so that their hips collide.

A groan escapes Root’s lips when her heat meets Shaw’s, and she begins slowly grinding needing more.

Their kiss is a bit desperate and clumsy, Root nipping Shaw’s lips and receiving a bite in return.

Root moans breathily, which earns her fingers against her center, drawing circles. They push a bit more firmly every time they return to her clit, and her panties grow wetter as the movements continue.

She grabs Shaw’s hand to push it under the fabric, but Shaw yanks her hand out of Root’s grip.

Shaw tuts disapprovingly, “You never learn do you?”

Root bites her lower lip, eyes struggling to maintain her mischievousness despite growing increasingly desperate. “Sorry. Please,” was all she manages to whisper.

The warm weight on top of her, along with Shaw’s breath ghosting on her collarbone made Root lose track of her thoughts. A haze clouds her mind, and all she sees is Shaw, whose lips curl up into a small, satisfied smirk.

Shaw leans back to admire the flushed woman beneath her, who stares back with beckoning eyes and parted lips.

 _Those fucking doe eyes and that arrogant nose._ The contrast they provide against Root’s shameless arousal drove Shaw wild.

Her hands creep up Root’s sides, slowly pushing up the t-shirt to reveal the dips and curves of her body. The miles of skin gradually rose to form two small mounds and culminating in straining, puckered peaks.

Scattered on Root’s naked torso were faint scars, and Shaw traces over them with her fingers. For a computer nerd, she sure has a lot of scars. They were all parts of a testament to how beautifully reckless she was. Shaw secretly loved it.

Root watches the fingers with breathless anticipation as they begin to cup her breasts. Shaw’s thumbs brush over Root’s waiting nipples with feather-light touches.

Root’s jaw drop a bit more, tongue darting out to wet her lips. She lifts off the bed to meet Shaw in a heated kiss.

She whines when Shaw broke the kiss to push her shoulders back down but gasps when Shaw’s lips met the underside of her right breasts and sucking harshly.

When those lips wrap around her nipple, teeth grazing, Root whimpers.

She grips the back of Shaw’s head and dug her fingers into Shaw’s hair.

The teeth bit down a bit harder. “Fuck,” Root groans, and her grinding low body picks up its rhythm.

One of Shaw’s hands begin rolling one nipple as her mouth works on the other, once in awhile switching places. Her other hand sneaks back down to Root’s center.

Shaw places most of her weight on her knees giving her arms more room to work. her hand rubbing against Root’s–thoroughly ruined–panties finally pushes the fabric aside to tease her soaked opening.

Her fingers dip slightly inside, only to draw moisture up towards Root’s clit.

“Sam, please,” Root pleads. Shaw simply ignores her and continues rubbing gentle circles around the nub.

Root pulls at Shaw’s tank top and the two separate for a second to quickly remove what littles clothing is left clinging to their skin from sweat. Root runs her own hands up and back down Shaw’s back, scratching it.

Shaw hisses and picks up the pace of her fingers circling Root’s clit.

Root keens, and Shaw quickly pushes two fingers into her entrance. Root’s arousal lets her fingers simply glide inside, knuckle-deep. Their simultaneous loud moans are muffled as they crash their lips together.

Shaw’s fingers purposefully pumps into Root, who moves her own hand to touch Shaw. She was quickly thwarted when Shaw grabs her wandering hand and holds it above her head.

Shaw pauses her movements to look Root in the eyes. “That’s enough from you. Don’t you want to be thoroughly fucked?” she teases, but her eyes hold a sincere question.

At Root’s enthusiastic nod, she continues pumping a curling her fingers against Root’s front walls. Long legs immediately wrap around her waist in a death grip, and Root meets her fingers on each thrust.

The sounds of Root’s pleasure and Shaw’s groans of exertion bounced against the walls of their hotel suite, which is otherwise silent.

Shaw more deliberately presses against Root’s clit as she kept up her pace, wrist curling to firmly drag fingers against Root’s depths.

“Oh fuck. Fuckfuckfuck,” Root mumbles as her fingers dig harder into Shaw’s shoulders. Her back pushes off the mattress, muscles coiled tight as she wraps herself more completely around Shaw. They both start panting harshly, and when Shaw adds a third finger, Root spasms with release from the inside out.

Somewhere in the back of her hazy, sex-addled mind, Root realizes that their neighbors can probably hear each of her high-pitched moans. She just can’t find it in herself to give a damn

 

“Sam, wake up!”

Shaw feels her shoulder being nudged and is alert within seconds. She pops up in bed from her prone position, trying to assess the situation.

“Our number’s in trouble,” Root clarifies, already half-way out the door.

Shaw quickly gets up to follow her and notices Root’s clad only in her silk robe and a handgun. She’s glad she had the mental wherewithal to throw on shorts and a tank top before going to sleep. Just in case.

She notes that it’s still dark out, judging from the hallway windows. The hotel is mostly silent, and most of the other guests are still sleeping.

As Root stealthily approaches Liang’s door, the tiny light on its electronic lock automatically switches from red to green.

The perks of having a digital god play for your team.

The room is dark when they enter, and it takes a moment for their eyes to readjust. they can hear the muffled sounds of a struggle, so Root, guided by The Machine, swiftly makes her way over to the nearest light and switches it on.

The would-be assassin, who had his hands around Liang’s neck, blinks hard, blinded by the sudden brightness. For her part, Liang is still struggling to break free.

Shaw jumps into action, barreling toward the assassin. He tries to throw a punch at her, which she deflects with her hands to absorb its kinetic energy.

Liang takes the distraction as her cue to flee, so she hops out of bed and makes her way to Root.

“I’m gonna call 911!” she rasps out, voice still hoarse from nearly being strangled to death.

“No, wait,” Root grabs on to her arm to stop her.

“What? Why not?” Liang squeaked out, eyes wild.

Before Root could answer, they both felt a gust of air as Shaw focuses the collected energy to chuck the guy straight through the air. He flies past them, hits a wall and is knocked out cold.

Shaw rolls her neck and approaches his unconscious body with disgust. “Lightweight,” she sneers.

She pats him down while Root tries to pacify a confused and frightened Lian.

“What is going on? Who are you people?”

Aside from a small handgun, Shaw finds a small bag of pills in the pockets of his black cargo pants.

She jiggles the bag for the other two to see. “I’m gonna go ahead and say these aren’t allergy pills,” she quips.

Root turns to their number and gently grips her shoulders in a calming manner.

She looks Liang in the eye and speaks slowly, “Christina, you need to come with us. You’ve probably noticed that your life is in danger. We are here to help.”

 

The team is gathered at one of Finch’s safe houses–a cozy penthouse in Queens.

Inexplicably, Reese, Zoe Morgan, and Joss Carter were all dressed in fancy eveningwear. There’s a nasty cut above Reese’s left eye, and both Zoe and Carter had hair sticking out of their updos.

Shaw makes a mental note to grill Reese about his escapades later, but they currently have bigger fish to fry.

“I don’t understand the problem here,” Agent Fusco states, face twisted in confusion. “Why can’t cyborg over here just ask for files to indict this clown?”

Root is indignant, but Finch steps in to prevent quarreling.

“Unfortunately,” he says quickly, “Miss Liang’s being threatened by someone who knows what he’s doing. James Moss seems to have taken every precaution against our modern means of surveillance.”

“He’s old school, then,” Reese adds.

“So, basically, you’re saying you don’t got squat on this guy,” Fusco deadpans.

Shaw huffs impatiently, “Must I remind you all that we do have a napping assassin that I could have been questioning this whole time?”

“Time to wake sleeping beauty,” Reese smirks.

“No,” Finch yelps. “I think this is a job for Agent Carter.”

At his imploring stare, Carter sighs. “Fine,” she agrees, “but only because I know what you’re thinking about setting the Mayhem Twins here loose on our only source of intel.”

Shaw rolls her eyes while Reese shrugs sheepishly.

Carter can only shake her head, “I’ll need Root to be behind the glass,” she turns to the woman in question, “I’ll be needing a few bits of information from The Machine.”

“Not fair,” Shaw mutters, causing Root to grin sweetly at her.

“Don’t worry, Sam. You have plenty of other things to offer, which I thoroughly appreciate.”

Finch clears his throat, while everyone else tried to pretend that they didn’t get the implications of Root’s comment.

Root gives Shaw an obvious wink before following Carter into the interrogation room.

 _She has the audacity to wink at me,_ Shaw thought bitterly. _I must be getting soft._

“I still can’t believe you have an interrogation room set up in this fancy-pants apartment,” Fusco suddenly comments.

“I received urgings from both Mr. Reese and Miss Shaw,” Harold informs him.

“Why am I not surprised,” Zoe finally speaks up, shooting Reese and amused glance.

“Wait, I’m sorry...and who are you?” Liang asks shyly. She’d remained quiet up to this point, still shaken from the near-death experience. “You’re not an agent, right?”

Zoe smiles kindly at her, “No, I’m not. I’m just a very helpful civilian.”

Liang nods, but doesn’t quite understand. She looks around the safehouse, eyes wide, taking everything in. Her leg is shaking uncontrollably, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Shaw.

Liang gratefully accepts the glass of brandy Shaw hands her and takes a gulp. She immediately chokes on the liquid and hacks up a lung.

“Not a drinker, huh?” Shaw raises an eyebrow.

Liang shakes her head, “Not hard liquor, no.”

“I’ll make you some tea, Miss Liang,” Harold offers. “Come choose what kind you’d like,” he motions toward the kitchen.

Liang follows without a word, and a small part of Shaw is glad that at least Finch knows how to comfort someone like her. Shaw is never going to tell him that though.

 

“So what you’re saying,” Shaw drawls, “is that we have no eyewitness, because our hired killer has never seen Moss face to face?”

“No,” Carter rolls her eyes, “what we’re saying is that we have a plan.”

Root smiles cockily. “There’s a drop-off point,” she informs the room, “for the payments. That’s how our little assassin–whose name is Asher, by the way. Doesn’t seem appropriate, right? Anyway, it’s how Asher picked up the deposit amount for his handiwork.

“We let Asher contact Moss and tell him the job is done,” Carter continues, “and we stake it out. Catch our boy red-handed when he drops off the rest of the money.”

“Asher is supposed to drop off proof of death before 6am tomorrow. Well, today,” Root adds after realizing the time.

“Proof of death?” Reese asks.

“About that,” Cater says hesitantly and glances at Liang, who is still clutching her tea mug like a security blanket.

Liang narrows her eyes and asks, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“This make-up is kinda itchy,” Liang complains, “and this position is uncomfortable.”

Shaw shushes her, “You’re talking too much for a dead person. And stop scratching so we can take this picture.”

Liang was sprawled on Finch’s bed with her face made up to look corpse-like. Reese had just finished arranging the room to appear disorderly, as if there had been a party. Asher the assassin had planned to make Liang’s death seem like an accidental overdose on party drugs.

He was to take photos of a deceased Liang on a disposable phone and leave the phone at a junkyard, the drop point, as proof before Moss would leave the rest of the money for him.

With the background arranged, Liang is once again posed like a corpse and Reese snaps the photos.

He then hands Asher the phone as Shaw points a gun directly at his head.

Harold originally had concerns about this part of the plan, but Shaw assure him that it was all for shaw.

She slightly pushes the muzzle of the gun against Asher’s head to make a point.

“Make the call,” she commands, “and no funny business or my finger is going to slip.”

Asher takes a nervous glance at her face before dialling the designated number to leave a voicemail for Moss.

Root takes the opportunity to slink over to Shaw’s side. “Your bossy voice is always so effective...at making me wet.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, scowling, but, by the look on Root’s face, she could tell Root wasn’t fooled.

 

Once they’d placed the disposable phone at the drop point, Root and Shaw placed a small camera nearby so they could monitor the location remotely to minimize the risk of being seen.

They hid in an old junk car. Shaw had reclined her seat–she sat in the driver’s seat–and was taking a nap. Or she was trying to.

“I can feel you staring and hear your brain working,” she said without opening her eyes.

Root brings her face even closer to Shaw’s, adoring grin fixed in place.

“Have you noticed that this car has a back seat?”

“Yes,” Shaw says curtly, “As do most cars.”

While we wait for Moss to show up, wanna take advantage of this fact?”

“You mean have sex in the back of this rusty junkyard car?”

“Wow, you sure know how to romance a girl,” Root teases.

At this, Shaw finally opens her eyes.

“What? You suddenly want chocolates and flowers, now?” Shaw asks mockingly.

“You know I’d prefer a good heist and shoot-out,” Root corrects her.

Shaw’s eyes light up and both bring their faces closer together. Just as their noses graze against one another, however, Root draws back with the familiar dazed look in her eyes. The Machine is speaking.

“He’s here.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and typed out very late at night/early in the morning, so please forgive nonsensical mistakes.
> 
> Also, I'm weird about social media, but feel free to drop me a line at fangirlingthrulife.tumblr.com
> 
> Also also, in this universe, it is my headcannon that Joss Carter is a relative of Peggy Carter. Agent Carter *wink wink*


End file.
